


This Above All

by Aviss



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Coming Out, Homophobia, Jaime is genderfluid, Multi, TW:Homophobia, Transphobia, Tywin Lannister Being Tywin Lannister, cersei being cersei, tw:transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25145770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviss/pseuds/Aviss
Summary: Jaime does nothing by halves, when it's time to come out he does it as any self-respecting Lannister would. With his own parade.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 37
Kudos: 111





	This Above All

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, just to say that I have tried to write this fic with the utmost respect.  
> When I started writing this fic it was going to be a lot more lighthearted, but as these things sometimes do, it kind of became something else. I am cisgender, and my experiences and journey to coming out as bisexual/aromantic are different than for a trans/nb person. I have tried to be respectful, and read on it as much as I could, but if I have missed the mark please let me know and I'll try to fix it.  
> Many thanks to Roccolinde, Slipsthrufingers, Aliveanddrunkonsunlight and Dialects_and_Costumes for their helpful input, any remaining mistakes are all mine.

_… to thine own self be true_

"Are you sure about this?"

Jaime looks at his friend in the mirror, eyes roving appreciatively over the bits of skin exposed by the cropped top to the corded arms, down to the toned abs and muscled thighs perfectly showcased by a fishtail skirt. 

"Are you wearing heels?" He asks with a bit of a frown, not answering the question. He doesn't know what the real answer is and Addam knows that. 

With an eye roll, Addam grabs the skirt and lifts it to show sturdy biker boots with just a hint of a heel. "I love you, Jaime, but I'm not ready to die for you."

Jaime laughs and turns back to his own image on the mirror, brandishing his brushes as if he was Michelangelo instead of a novice who has spent a week watching raventube tutorials and has come out looking like a sad clown half of the time. "Wimp."

Addam barks a laugh and approaches him, hip checking him to the side and looking at Jaime's bare face. "I'm not shaving my beard, but you can do my eyes when you finish."

"Fine, go bother Daven while I do this, it's not as easy as all the teenagers in Raventube make it seem."

He looks at his reflection in the mirror and can't help the smile on his lips. He's already applied the foundation and veil before Addam interrupted him, his skin looks smooth and soft in a way it rarely does even after shaving. He's also applied the khol, which makes his eyes look dramatically green, and now he just needs some iridescent shadow on his lids and the eyeliner wings. That's the hard thing, the fucking wings; he's an architect, he should be able to make two similar lines over his eyes but it takes him four tries and lots of curses until he has something he's comfortable with. He does the mascara after and releases his hair from the bun it has been in. The person who looks at him from the mirror could have been Cersei, except his jaw is square and sharp where hers is softer, her cheekbones are sharper and her neck longer, Jaime's is layered in muscle and there is no disguising his Adam's apple. And he's nowhere near as cold and harsh and bigoted as she is.

He comes out of the bathroom with his brushes and shadow palette and goes looking for Addam. He and Daven are in the living room drinking Jaime's good single malt and chatting animatedly. 

"Tyrion's sent a message. He says no amount of makeup is going to make him less ugly so he'll skip it, but he'll see us by the Red Keep's entrance. He says Tysha's coming as well and they'll be wearing a tux." Daven turns when he hears Jaime, he's not wearing women's clothes though he's not looking discreet at all either. Daven's clad in a pair of leather trousers and a mesh t-shirt that leaves very little to the imagination and has put some glitter on his cheeks. His eyes are not green like Jaime's nor are his hair and beard as golden, yet Daven looks every inch the Lannister he is. He also looks like a textbook bear, with the bulging muscles and the body hair, the boys are going to be all over him.

Jaime smiles at his cousin, he can already picture the next day's front pages. They are stirring a pit of vipers, they will be lucky if they're not disowned on the spot. He grabs one of the glasses scattered over the tables and downs it. Liquid courage, he needs as much as he can muster if he's really doing this.

"Perfect, we can all be the black sheep together," is what he says, and Daven chortles a laugh and downs his own glass.

Addam's makeup takes all of two minutes since he refuses the eyeliner and the red lipstick. "It's messy with my beard and red and orange don't look so good together." Jaime has to give him that, it's enough what he's already doing for him.

Then there's nothing for him to delay anymore, and Jaime goes back to his room and takes the red dress from the hanger. He slips it on carefully so as not to smudge the painstakingly applied makeup and smooths all creases, noting how it clings to his flat chest and makes his arms look stronger. It falls to mid-calf in irregular waves, Jaime carefully gets on the gold heeled sandals and grabs the gold clutch from the top of his bed, taking huge gulping breaths to calm his hammering heart. 

He looks at himself in the mirror, he looks good. Almost perfect. With a bit of a shake in his hand, he applies the lipstick, as red as the dress. 

_Now he's perfect_.

It won't escape anyone who has seen the video that he's wearing almost the same outfit as his dear sister when she was captured in a recording, shaking little Tommen for asking for nail polish and telling him men don't want to look like girls, to stop being a freak and behave like a Lannister. The backslash of that little tidbit of Cersei's behaviour has been tremendous, and not even all the power of Tywin Lannister has been enough to completely suppress that video once it was out on the net.

That's not the main thing, though. Seeing it like that, hearing the same things Cersei used to tell him growing up has done for Jaime what years of therapy have not managed. He's spent years and thousands of dragons coming to grips with the fact that he's not a freak for feeling sometimes like a woman and wanting soft things for himself, but he hadn't yet found the resolve to take the last step to be fully himself in public and bring the wrath of Tywin over his head.

Now he's angry enough at the treatment of his nephew to get the heir of the Lannister empire, at least until Tywin sees this, on the front page of all magazines dressed as a woman on the pride parade. He has a plan, he's kind of constructed his career around this moment without acknowledging he was doing it, has put the money his mother let him towards his own architecture studio and other small-time investments. Small-time for a Lannister but enough that he doesn't have to fear being left without resources. And neither does his cousin.

Jaime's also contacted an old friend and knows there is a place in the Martell float for him, ensuring maximum visibility because Jaime can do nothing by halves; if he's going to set his life on fire, he wants a bonfire the Seven can see from the heavens.

Both Addam and Daven wolf-whistle when he walks into the living room, and it brings a smile to Jaime's face. 

"Damn coz, if I liked women I would be tempted right now," Daven says, looking him up and down.

" _I am_ tempted," Addam says with the same appreciative look. He fills the three glasses on the table and lifts one in a toast. "To the best dressed in the parade!"

"To the best dressed!" Jaime and Daven echo and drink their shot, Jaime shudders as it goes down, warming up from the inside. 

"Let's go, before I lose my nerve."

…

Jaime's five the first time he puts on one of Cersei's dresses. 

It's her idea, they are so similar, one soul in two bodies, she always insists, and it will be fun to see whether the adults can tell the difference or not. 

They can't, but that's not what stays with Jaime. He looks at himself in the mirror wearing one of his sister's cute dresses and tiny sandals and feels right in a way he doesn't know how to voice. The girl looking at him from the mirror could be Cersei, except he doesn't like being Cersei, he likes being Jaime but he also likes being a girl. 

Today at least. 

He doesn't always feel like that, there are days in which Cersei asks him to swap clothes and he doesn't want to, not really. He does it anyway because he never says not to Cersei, can't deny anything to the other half of his soul. He doesn't feel right, though. There's an itch when he puts on the dress and looks at the mirror and doesn't see a cute girl but a boy in his sister's clothes, and he doesn't like it. Other times he feels uncomfortable in the trousers and shirts he usually wears, and those days he's the one who suggests they swap clothes, a game Cersei has grown more and more reluctant to the more Jaime asks for it.

He's twelve the first time Cersei refuses him. Their mother has been gone long enough that any warmth remaining in their home has already been leeched out, Tywin has turned to stone and Tyrion is the only spot of light for Jaime in the house. 

There are more differences between Jaime and Cersei now, she's got a hint of breasts and the curve or her hips is more pronounced. Jaime has grown taller, shooting several inches over her, and he's beginning to develop some muscle. Tywin has his schedule packed with extra scholar activities, tutoring to help with his studies and martial arts for the rest of the time. He's good at the physical ones, not so much at studying. Cersei asked for the same, but she got sent to ballet instead, an activity suited to women and which made Cersei more resentful towards Jaime.

"Why do you want to wear a dress? You're a boy, you'll look like a freak and we already have one of those in the house. We don't need another."

Jaime leaves Cersei's rooms that day, his face scalding in shame that his twin, the other half of his soul, thinks him freakish. It's the first rift between the two of them, though he doesn't know at the time. What he knows is he can't be a freak, not if he wants to be a good Lannister. And if there are days he feels wrong in his own skin, if he misses the feel of a swishing skirt around his legs or a pink ribbon in his hair, he tells himself boys don't long for it and trains harder.

…

The parade grounds surrounding the Red Keep are packed to the rafters, so much so it's almost impossible to find his little brother among the crowd. It is fortunate that Tyrion is not subtle at all, if the old Lannister banner he uses to signal his position is any indication. 

"Fuck, you look like her," it's the first thing that Tyrion says when he sees Jaime. "Terrifying. I love it!"

Jaime couches down to hug his brother and then stands up and does the same to Tysha, his brother's partner, who's standing next to him wearing a tux, as they promised, with their hair pulled back in a tight bun. They must be boiling in the sweltering heat, but they look amazing. 

"Shall we?" Jaime says, tilting his head towards the entrance to the cordoned area, where the floats are getting ready to start the parade. 

They have no problems gaining access to the restricted area, either Jaime's and Daven's looks or their name have been opening doors for them since they were teenagers. The float they are directed to is colourful and huge, already half full of people in different types of dress. Most of them are Dornish, wearing either very little or the traditional clothing and make-up regardless of gender, though there are a few white people scattered around the float. Jaime's eyes alight on a big blonde wearing tight jeans and white wifebeater, a hint of breasts and not much of a waist, and arms and shoulders as strong as Jaime's. They're standing next to a tall and delicate looking redhead and one of the Sand snakes, Ellaria and Oberyn's daughters. Which one Jaime can't tell from that distance, there are too many of them and they all look like their mother. 

"You really did it. I have to give it to you, Lannister, you have balls." Jaime turns at the voice to see Oberyn Martell giving him a heated look, one that raises goosebumps and his arms and makes a pleasant shiver run down his spine. "Ellaria, come greet your friend!" 

Ellaria appears a second later, her eyes as hungry all over Jaime as her husband's had been. "You look amazing, dear," she says, leaning up to press her lips to his cheek, almost against the corner of his lips.

"You too." 

And she does, as always. She can pull off wearing nothing but glitter and underwear, same as Oberyn, their dark skin shining under the unforgiving sun. Not that they look very bothered by the heat.

"Are you ready for the shitstorm you're going to stir with this?" Ellaria asks in a low voice. Jaime nods, he wouldn't be here if he wasn't though that doesn't stop the terror clawing at his insides.

"I have to be, you said it yourself I won't be happy if I keep hiding part of myself." 

Jaime's lucky to have met Ellaria during university, she was the one who stumbled upon his secret and instead of shaming him had been supportive and understanding. She knows about discrimination because of her gender and the colour of her skin, and she also knows about having to hide some part of herself, society not more accepting of her boundless capacity for love than they are of Jaime's fluidity. She's the one who pointed him to a good therapist and just lets him be whatever he wants to be. She's also been trying to get into his pants, or skirts, alone and with her husband for so long it's now a running joke between the three of them. 

One of these days Jaime might have the last laugh and say yes just to see their faces.

"I also said you should take small steps, you call this a small step?" she asks with a laugh, pointing at the multitude of people surrounding them, the cameras and thousands and thousands of mobile phones that are going to capture every moment of it. 

"No, I call this a declaration." He remembers Tommen's sad face in the video and hopes it will reach his nephew, though it probably means he won't be allowed within five metres of him anymore. 

"Let's hope is not a declaration of war," she says, handing Jaime a glass and clinking it with hers. 

They both drink and stare in silence as the last preparations are finished before the parade starts.

…

Jaime's nineteen when he gets his own place in King's Landing. 

It should feel strange or terrifying to be without his twin and without any family around, but what it feels is freeing. His relationship with his sister is strained and painful, nothing of the closeness he remembers from when they were children, and back home he has this feeling of being always observed and always being expected to perform to an exacting degree of perfection. 

Or what his father believes it's perfection. 

Tywin isn't happy Jaime has chosen architecture over business, that he wants to build something beyond the family fortune, but hasn't been able to either convince him or threaten him into compliance.

He has a tiny apartment close to the Mud Gate and walking distance from the university, it's one of the newly developed areas between Muddy Way and the Hook and he loves it because it's his and inside it, Jaime can be whatever and whoever he wants to be.

It's taken him a couple of months to stop feeling eyes on the back of his neck, to relax fully inside his own apartment, to stop hearing his father's or his sister's voice in his head when his eyes stray over some shop's window. There is nobody to judge him if he stops and stares at a green top on a woman's clothing store, and nobody to tell him to stop looking.

He's on his way back from class when he stops by one of the shops, there is one blouse on display in a deep azure that Jaime suddenly wants to feel against his skin. It's not revealing, but there is something on the neckline and the cuffs he likes. 

Jaime blinks and considers going into the store. 

He doesn't. What he does is switch on his computer the moment he's home and order it online, that way it could be for anyone. Nobody has to see him buying it. He thinks for a moment about it being for Cersei, and how she would look in it, but the image is wrong. He's ordered it on a size that would be too big for his twin, who doesn't have the broad shoulders he does.

He doesn't try it on the day it arrives, he opens the bag and looks at it and just knows he won't look good in it. Jaime curses the impulse buy and it gets shoved to the back of the wardrobe where it stays undisturbed for a couple of weeks, out of sight and out of mind until the day he feels restless, not quite settled in his skin all day during classes. 

There is something like an itch under his skin and it makes him fidget in class as he takes notes. He goes straight into his room the moment he's back home, curtains closed to prevent any nosy neighbours watching, and takes the bag from the back of the wardrobe. 

He takes the blouse out and puts it on carefully, there are creases where it was haphazardly shoved in and the neckline falls too flat against his chest, where he can see his blonde hair curling out. He's going to need to shave it for days like this. 

Jaime looks at his reflection on the mirror and something settles, letting him breathe fully. The silk is soft against his skin and the colour looks very nice, the long cuffs make his wrists look slender and his arms thinner. He pulls his hair up and examines his face, it's still the same but the two days shadow of a beard needs to go. 

He's not naive, he's aware that he's not what his family would call normal, and he's living close enough to the gay quartet to know about gender identities. 

His is not set, that's what's thrown him for a long time. 

He feels like a man most of the time but there are days he's not comfortable with his beard or the width of his shoulders and the roughness of his voice, and he would like nothing more than being five again in his sister's dress. And then there are in-between days, days that blur the lines between the two, where he doesn't mind his beard but would also love a blouse like this one on his skin or painted nails adorning his hands. 

He knows he's not the only person like this, he's read the brochure. _Genderfluid_ , it wouldn't have a name if it was something only he felt. And it's a relief to know the name of it, to know he's not alone, but Jaime's a Lannister, and woe betide him if he's something different than normal. 

He sighs but doesn't take off the blouse, instead, he ties his hair on a tall ponytail, one that makes his face look pointier and his cheek sharper, and makes himself a drink. 

He can't be anything but Jaime Lannister, Tywin's heir, outside. But at least here on his own behind closed doors, Jaime can be himself. 

…

It's a lot noisier on top of the float than Jaime had expected. 

To be completely honest, the entire thing is too noisy to even hear himself think. The music's pounding around them, the beat vibrating up his legs and almost drowning the hammering in his chest. Around them, thousands of people are shouting and clapping and dancing to the beat, both outside of the barriers and marching alongside them on the ground, like foot soldiers to their generals. Jaime's at the front of the float, dancing with Daven one minute and with Oberyn the next. Close to them, Tyrion and Tysha are either dancing or making out, depending on the song, completely oblivious to the rest of the world as only a couple sickeningly in love can be.

Jaime has a bottle of water in one hand and something that is definitely not water in the other, and he feels drunk and happy. He's drunk on the cheer, on the music, and on whatever booze they've given him.

Tomorrow there will be consequences for this, but that doesn't matter today. Today is for dancing and drinking and being merry.

He's twirled by an expert hand, his skirt lifting delightfully in the air and making him laugh as he goes round and round, maintaining his balance on heels only by virtue of his martial arts training. He doesn't stop twirling until he smacks against a rather hard chest, big hands stopping his last turn. 

"What are _you_ doing here?" Someone says harshly and he looks to see a rather unfortunate face scowling down at him for a second before the expression clears, the bluest eyes he's ever seen widening in shock at him. " _You're not Cersei Lannister,_ " he feels the reverberation of the words against his chest more than hears them and he grins widely at the speaker. 

"My dear sister wouldn't be caught dead here, sweetling," he says, taking a stumbling step back. He looks at the person speaking to him, it's the blond he saw before and up close they look even bigger and sturdier than he thought. 

"I'm sorry," they say, face covered by a blotchy blush, the voice sounds female but Jaime should not assume. 

They're as tall as Jaime with heels, which means they're taller than him, and have a peculiar face with too big features. There is something interesting in them, in the huge blue eyes and fleshy lips and the million of freckles scattered around a broad pale face. 

The music changes into one of Jaime's favourite songs. "Dance with me?" he asks, and has loosely grabbed their hips so they can step back if the answer is no.

The blonde doesn't move for a moment and looks to the side where the redheaded girl is staring at them with an impressed face. Jaime wonders whether it's the blonde's girlfriend, then he wonders again why she looks familiar to him but puts it out of his mind at her nod, the blonde putting one arm around his waist and the other on his shoulder and giving him a firm turn. 

He still feels drunk but a bit more steady than before. "I'm Jaime," he says, though they probably know. 

It's not as if his family is not famous.

"I'm Brienne," they say and study him with a considering look. "You have any preferred pronouns?"

The question is not entirely unexpected and yet it hits him hard. He needs to think about it because he's been avoiding thinking about it for years, hasn't really felt ready for that. "He/him will do for today," Jaime finally decides. Today is for making merry, hard questions are for tomorrow. "Ask me again next time. What about you?" 

"She/her for me."

Jaime nods and then there is nothing but the music between them and the movement of their bodies. They fit well together, there's some synchronicity to their movements he has rarely felt and Jaime doesn't feel the need to fill the silence, something even rarer. She really has a unique face, not entirely unpleasant though she could be considered ugly, the only makeup she's wearing is a hit of mascara making her eyes even more impressive up close.

He wants to say something, ask about the other girl and find out whether Brienne is single, but doesn't want to break this perfect bubble between the two of them. Then the song changes and Brienne releases Jaime, who finds himself immediately in the arms of Addam, pressed against his firm chest for a slow dance before he's passed to Ellaria for the next one. He keeps looking back to where Brienne is with the redhead, catching her eyes on him more than once and feeling the pull to go over there and ask her to dance again. When Oberyn comes to take his wife, Jaime begs off the next dance to get a drink. Dorea and Loreza are next to the drinks, handing bottles of water to anyone who asks and throwing them to the marchers with a warning shout when they pass a cluster that looks especially sweaty and thirsty. 

"We saw you dancing with Brienne," Dorea says, a mischievous smile on her face.

"She's a good dancer," Jaime says, grabbing one bottle from the girl's hand and drinking half of it in one go, he pours the rest over his head before he has time to be concerned about his makeup. _Shit_. He grimaces, though the cool water trickling down his back and neck feels very good. He looks around and sees people doing the same, trying to stay cool under the sun, and nobody cares whether their makeup gets ruined. 

"We invited her, she's in our self-defence classes with Sansa, though she could be teaching them if she wanted. She's so good." 

They both look at Brienne starry-eyed, and Jaime can't blame them. Brienne really cuts an imposing figure, and if she fights as she dances he would love to face her on the mats. 

"Sansa?" he asks, though he's sure they mean the redhead.

"Elia likes her," Dorea whispers as if imparting a state secret, darting a look at where her older sister is with their mother now, casting wistful looks in that direction. "Has been coming to all our classes since she met her." 

"We're going to matchmake," Loreza says with a giggle, and they turn to each other and start planning their mischief, Jaime already forgotten. 

He looks at where Brienne is and finds her staring back at him, a flush crawling up her face and a timid smile on her lips. 

He's reasonably sure now they're not together.

...

Jaime's twenty-two when Daven gets caught kissing another boy. 

The entire family is back in Casterly Rock for the summer and the celebration of Tywin's fiftieth birthday, the thick walls of the old castle festooned in red and gold like in the Targaryen era. Everywhere he looks there's crimson and gold, in case anyone forgot this was a Lannister party. Jaime might be the only speck of colour apart from the hired help, who's wearing black. He's made a point of wearing a blue silk shirt over his black tailored trousers, and he stands out like a sore thumb in the middle of his family. 

He's earned himself a few disgruntled looks and he wonders how much worse would it be if he was wearing the purple dress that's stuffed at the bottom of his bag, out of sight if not out of mind. Today he would have loved to wear it, something he's only dared once and just within the confines of his own house back in King's Landing, to release his hair from the tie at the nape of his neck and to borrow the pink gloss Aunt Miranda should not be wearing with her colouring. 

He can feel the old itch intensifying when the commotion starts, it takes Jaime a moment to realize the cold voice is Uncle Stafford's, usually a genial man. A soft man in Tywin's opinion. He doesn't sound soft now, or genial. 

"...embarrassing us here, where anyone could see you," Jaime hears him hiss, when he turns he sees Daven being practically dragged by his father. "What would happen if Tywin saw your unnatural behaviour, you're dragging the Lannister name through the mud."

He doesn't hear what Daven says, but feels immediately sorry for his cousin. He's barely fifteen and as tall and big as he already is, Daven's just a boy. One of the few in his family Jaime actually likes because he's always nice to Tyrion. 

They disappear from the party quickly after that, but the damage is done, the gossip travelling with the speed of wildfire and just as devastating.

It's Cersei the one who tells Jaime what has happened, Daven was seen with the son of some of Tywin's business partner or another, fooling around as teenagers usually do behind the old stables.

"All families have to have one of those, I suppose," Cersei says, her lips curled in distaste, her eyes chips of ice. "Father wasn't happy that they flaunted it in public, perversions should be kept in private."

"There's nothing perverted in it, sister," Jaime protests, he really does think there's nothing wrong with it. Love is love and people are people, and Daven is not hurting anyone liking boys.

" _You_ would think that," Cersei says, a nasty glint in her eyes that means she's already downed one too many glasses of wine. She always gets mean when she's drunk, and Jaime's usually her favourite target. It took Jaime a long time to realize it's jealousy what drives Cersei's cruellest impulses, that she resents Jaime for Tywin's misogyny, the same one she has learned and brandishes without compunction. "Want to borrow one of my dresses again? You should have been the one born with a cunt if you like them so much."

Jaime's not in the mood for this, a pit opening in the bottom of his stomach like it does every time Cersei brings this up, or every time his father acts like the world hasn't advanced since the Targaryen era and people who don't conform to the norm shouldn't exist. 

He finishes his drink and leaves her there to go find Tyrion, the only thing he has missed after leaving home, and the next day he's back in King's Landing and away from his family. 

Jaime makes a point to call Daven and let him know there is a safe place for him if he needs it.

…

Jaime's lost track of how long they've been on top of the float, they left the Red Keep behind what feels like ages ago, they have moved past Vysenia's hill and Baelor's Park, and they've turned down the Street of Steel. He knows their destination is The Mud Gate, where the festivities will continue through the night in Fishmonger's square, where the stalls and the big top have been erected. Most of the people from the parade will leave then, and somehow Jaime has the feeling that Brienne and Sansa will be among those that will get lost in the crowd. 

He doesn't want that to be the last he sees of her. 

He wants to keep dancing with Brienne, wants to feel her big hand on his shoulder and look into her big blue eyes as they turn and turn and turn, making him dizzy. 

"Go over there and ask her." Jaime looks down at the voice to see his brother standing next to him. 

"What?"

"You've been making cow eyes at the big one, and I saw you dancing with her. Go, we'll reach the square in fifteen minutes more or less."

That gives him the push he needs and Jaime walks to them and extends his hand to Brienne with a smile. "Another dance?"

Again Brienne looks at Sansa, a bit of flush creeping from her cheeks to her neck, spreading down her collarbones. Jaime wonders how far down it goes and hopes he can get to find out. This kind of feeling is not normal for him, not that he is completely inexperienced but it always felt more like something he should do and something he should want, than something he did want. 

Brienne takes his hand and he pulls her against him, this time taking the leading role in their dance. Brienne's eyebrows shot up but she doesn't say anything, just lets him lead her around the little space not occupied by other people, her hands on his hips as she effortlessly reads each movement of his body. 

"You're a good dancer," she says after a minute, her voice as warm as her eyes. 

Jaime feels a thrill at that, he'd been terrified of being looked at the way his sister or his father would, but he hasn't seen a disapproving face the entire time he's been here. Of course, he knows he'll have plenty of that tomorrow when the bubble bursts and the real world comes rushing in. And the real world is not as open-minded as a Pride Parade. But for now, with nothing but admiring glances and warmth surrounding him, and with a woman in his arms he likes, he allows himself to feel hopeful and happy.

"Yes, you can say I'm _fluid_ ," Jaime replies with a grin and she snorts at his bad joke. "I was taught since I was a kid. Lannisters need to know how to move around a ballroom." 

He demonstrates by leading Brienne into a complicated turn, at the end of which she swaps them around and takes the leading position easily. "Did they also teach you how to follow?"

He laughs, though it's more bitter than amused. "Of course not, _Lannister men only lead_. I learned this on my own." They settle in their new positions, moving easily with the beat of the music. "And of course they only teach ballroom dance, the fun ones I picked up along the way." With Ellaria, mainly, who's dancing with Oberyn and drawing as many looks as Jaime and Brienne on the other side of the float "Where did you learn?"

"Back in Tarth, one of my father's girlfriend's thought that learning how to dance would make me less brutish." There are whole volumes written in the downturn of her mouth and the cadence of her words. "I was too tall for all the boys so they never wanted to dance with me, they had no choice but to teach me to lead." She takes him into a quick twirl and then a dip, her hands sure on his back, keeping him safe while he extends with a flourish. He's never done this from his side, few women can dip their counterpart when it's someone as big as Jaime, and he finds he likes it. He likes it very much. Brienne is smiling at him as he straightens up. "And of course few can do that to me, I'm too big."

That's a challenge if Jaime has ever heard one. "I can, I'm strong enough." He moves them until they have swapped again, Jaime leading now. He likes this, the flexibility and ease with which she takes and cedes control of their dance. He wonders if it extends beyond this and wants to find out the answer very much. The song changes again, this one with a faster tempo and they adjust quickly, following the known steps.

Jaime doesn't want to hurry it, wants this moment to last forever, nothing but the music and the sounds of celebration around them, and the sun dipping slowly into the sea bringing a bit of relief from the heat. He can feel a bit of breeze, and would probably smell the sea if he wasn't completely enveloped by Brienne's smell, sharp and citrusy and so close. 

They are approaching the Mud Gate.

Brienne is looking at him, eyes falling to his mouth occasionally, and she laughs in surprise when he dips her, her head tilted back and the tendons of her neck in sharp relief, his hand planted firmly on the middle of her back supporting her weight. It's a big laugh, one of the biggest he has ever seen or felt, her entire frame shaking enough in his arms Jaime has to pull her up again, arms straining to keep her steady. He looks at Brienne's eyes scrunched almost shut, her mouth opened wide and her lips plump and shining where she has been biting them a moment before, and Jaime is suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks, not giving himself time to second guess the impulse.

She closes her mouth abruptly, eyes opening wide and focusing on his lips, still red with lipstick. She nods her head once and Jaime puts both his hands on her cheeks and breaches the short distance. Her lips are soft and warm and taste like strawberry gloss, and they part eagerly for him the moment Jaime's tongue touches it, a soft exhale he feels on his own lips. He wastes no time deepening the kiss, moving one hand to her neck and the other dropping to her waist to pull Brienne closer still. She's not just standing there either, her tongue sliding against Jaime's, one of her big hands tangling on his hair and holding his head firm as she takes control of the kiss, holding him firmly now and robbing the air straight from his lungs. Jaime wants to keep kissing like this forever, even if around them the clamour of voices and music rise, cheers and the infernal clicking of cameras that have not stopped since the beginning of the parade, and whops and laughs. Jaime feels the light changing and something falling over them, and when he opens his eyes there's a shower of confetti raining everywhere on the float and they have made the final turn into Fishmonger's square. He keeps kissing Brienne for as long as he can, short presses and playful bites on her lower lip, his hands tightening on her waist and when they finally separate her eyes are blown and her lips are red with his lipstick. 

The float has finally stopped but Jaime doesn't want to move from where he is. He knows he has to, they don't have much time to get off so the next one can take their place. 

"I want to see you again," he says, and he looks around wondering where he put his clutch and his mobile. He needs to ask for her number. 

Most of the people have already left, and Oberyn's is coming to get him. On Brienne's other side he sees Sansa pulling at her arm, Brienne finishes disentangling herself from Jaime and takes her own mobile from her jeans pocket. He gives his number and one last kiss before they are taken away by their friends, and he watches her disappear in the crowd and the music and the festivities around them, looking back one last time to smile at him.

...

Jaime's twenty-eight when he first comes out to another person. 

Tyrion's moved out of Tywin's house as soon as he was old enough to do it, not that anyone can blame him, and though he's living in King's Landing he doesn't spend much time with Jaime. He's too busy with university, where he's putting his giant brain to work getting two degrees at the same time. One of them is even the one Tywin wanted for Jaime so he could take over the company, their father should be happy. He's not. 

Jaime's come to grips with the fact that he's a disappointment for his father for reasons that have nothing to do with how he presents himself. It's taken him two years of therapy, but he's getting there.

"So this girl, what did you say her name was?" Jaime asks, handing his brother a glass of wine. 

They are sitting on Jaime's couch waiting for the food delivery, Jaime offered to cook and Tyrion wisely said hell no and ordered some food. 

"Tysha," Tyrion says, a dreamy look in his eyes and a soft smile on his face. His brother is smitten, Jaime grins. "We met around Fishmonger's sq, some assholes were giving them a hard time and I sicced Bronn on them and I became the knight in shining armour. Tysha was suitably grateful."

"I bet she was," Jaime teases, and Tyrion's smile slips for a moment. Jaime frowns. "What is it?"

" _They_ ," Tyrion says, and he looks like he's bracing for something. "Tysha's pronouns are they/them. They are genderqueer." There is something fearful in Tyrion's expression, but also determined. He's grown up in the same house as Jaime, has heard the same names being called to people like Tysha. 

To people like him. 

Jaime has kept that side of himself so well hidden his own brother thinks it more likely he's going to be hateful than understanding. He can't have that. 

"I'd love to meet them," Jaime says, and sees how his brother relaxes at that, turning huge and grateful eyes on him. Jaime can do better than just acceptance, though. "We have many things in common."

Nobody ever called his brother stupid, he stares at Jaime intently, blinking in surprise when he reaches the right conclusion. "Your pronouns?"

Jaime shakes his head. "Not ready for that yet." His therapist has told him to take his time, there is no timeframe for coming out and no rush, what works for one person doesn't work for another. 

Jaime has taken that to heart.

He has just the time to put his glass down before he has an armful of Tyrion, their hug tight enough it's hard to breathe and so very welcome. There are too many things he wants to say to his brother, but his voice's stuck in his throat and there are no words that can express what he's feeling right now. 

After what feels like a million years, they pull apart, neither of them mentioning the wetness on their cheeks. 

"I think Tysha's going to love you as much as I do."

...

The backslash is as bad as Jaime had suspected and he really can't bring himself to care that he's being disowned. 

He feels free, for the first time in thirty years, Jaime feels free and settled.

There are pictures of him in the dress in every major newspaper and magazine, and all over the internet, and in all of them he looks happy and beautiful. His favourite, though, is the one with smudged lipstick on his mouth and on Brienne's, their faces still too close and her fingers tangled in his hair. Jaime's head tilted up to look at her after the one kiss they shared, her eyes looking bluer than the sky and more enticing than the deepest sea. 

Jaime needs to find the person who took the picture and get a good copy so he can frame it.

And he needs to find Brienne, find her and ask her out, properly this time. 

He's ready--no, that's not quite right. _They're ready_. 

Finally, they are. 

There are many things about to change in their life, and there are many challenges ahead of them, Jaime's not enough of a fool to believe it's going to be easy. But they have friends, a family though they only share a surname with a couple of members, and they're finally in a place where they love themselves. 

And maybe they can now love someone else as well, and they know who that person ought to be. They look once again at the mobile in their hand, at the lone message received last night from an unknown number, and press the call button. 

"Hello, Brienne?"

...

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone is curious, this is the dress:  
> https://chcarolinaherrera.com/gb/en/new-in/women-6768168-1002/item/crepe-halterneck-dress-red  
> These are the sandals:  
> https://www.asos.com/au/office/office-spindle-gold-metallic-strappy-heeled-sandals/prd/6830102  
> and this is the blouse:  
> https://www.karenmillen.com/bow-silk-blouse/AKK98198.html


End file.
